


Assumptions, Assumptions (We're So Not Married)

by Topaz_Eyes



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Porn Battle, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-29
Updated: 2011-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-15 05:39:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topaz_Eyes/pseuds/Topaz_Eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assumptions, assumptions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assumptions, Assumptions (We're So Not Married)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Porn Battle XI](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/35812.html) using the prompt _domesticity_.

"Why must everyone we meet always assume we're married?" Donna said, looking and sounding cross.

On the TARDIS jump seat, she straddled the Doctor's very naked lap and braced herself on his shoulders. The Doctor steadied her hips, teased her (also very naked) labia with the head of his very engorged cock. "Dunno, but it does get tiring after awhile, doesn't it?" he replied.

She hummed, grabbed said cock and guided it deftly into her. "No matter where we go in the universe, it's always, 'Oh, Doctor and Mrs. Noble this,' or 'Mr. and Mrs. John Smith that.'" She settled to the root and clenched her muscles; the Doctor groaned and pushed up into her slippery heat. "I bet it's your psychic paper, it must be broken somehow."

"It's in perfect working order. People see what they want to see in it, Donna, can't control that." The Doctor tilted his hips, hitting a spot that made her squirm.

"Well, isn't that wizard." Donna cupped her left breast and brushed its nipple against his lips. Eagerly he took it in his mouth. "So what do we have to do to convince everyone we're not married?" she added, finishing with a sigh as he fondled her right one.

He peered up at her, lightly scraped the areola with his teeth, then pulled off. "We could stop bickering in front of them, for starters."

Donna scowled at him, splayed her fingers on the back of his head and guided him back to her chest. "You would say that," she said. "Typical bloke. Alien or human, you always have to have the last word no matter what."

He grunted, nuzzling the delicious crevice between those magnificent breasts. "Pot, meet kettle," he murmured against her flushed skin.

"What was that, Spaceman?"

He drew back. "Oh, nothing," he said. She glared at his feigned innocence; he grasped her buttocks and stroked upwards, firm and deep. He grinned at her protracted shudder, then tangled his fingers in her glorious ginger hair and captured her lips in a lingering kiss.

Wasn't it brilliant, the Doctor thought, how Donna fit in his arms so perfectly; how she fit him like a glove in every possible way. They rocked together in an easy rhythm on the jump seat. Presently she broke their kiss to reach down, swipe up some of her moisture and spread it on his lips. He latched onto her finger and sucked it hungrily, his tongue curling round her knuckle. She repeated her gesture, smearing the wetness over her collarbone this time. He lapped it up, savoring the salty musk of her arousal, the way she shivered when he licked up and down her throat.

After awhile Donna wriggled on his lap, not-so-subtly urging him faster. "We don't wear any sort of wedding bands, we don't even have tan lines to suggest we ever did," she said.

"Why are you still on about being mistaken for married?" he asked, speeding up to match.

"Because it--keeps--happening."

"Does it--really matter so much?"

"Yes--it--does." She was beginning to sound breathless.

"Does--it really--matter--so much--right now?" He dipped his hand between them and thumbed her clit.

Donna gasped, dropped her forehead onto his shoulder. Well, that distracted her enough; the Doctor caressed her again, and again. She whimpered with each feather-light assault, coiled tighter around him each time. Soon she clenched her thighs, angled her body so he would hit the perfect spot with his thrusts.

Oh yes, he thought, that's it; at these times he lived for Donna coming apart. He crooked his thumb once more; she bucked at the touch and panted her release against his neck. Her rhythmic pulses around his cock doubled and redoubled, and he pumped hard into her, pressure surging, the double-thumps of his hearts roaring in his ears. Lost in her, breath, skin, hot slickness coalesced; then just as he couldn't bear it any longer, she rolled her hips to tip him over. Groaning, he arched up and spilled deep inside her.

Once spent, he reclined in the seat. Still on his lap, Donna nestled against him. "We are getting bloody amazing at this," she said, nodding on his shoulder.

"Mmm, aren't we just." He stroked her back, basking in the afterglow.

"How did we start having sex, anyway?"

"We-ell, the magistrate on Galaxa Seven assumed we were married, as I recall, and--"

"Oh, right. Don't remind me." She huffed, burrowed closer. "Though I suppose assumptions aren't always bad."

"Sometimes assumptions are very good."

"Still wouldn't marry you though, not in a million years," she said, "not even if you proposed."

"I'll remember not to ask, then."

"And don't you forget."

He opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it, and nuzzled her hair instead. Their arrangement was perfect, just as it was. As long as he always let Donna have the last word on the matter, of course.


End file.
